


The Return Of The Last Dragon.

by Shanaya91



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shanaya91/pseuds/Shanaya91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man Robert killed in Trident was a Pretender in Rhaegar's armor. The Usurper died not knowing this secret. Now  the silver prince's back to retake what was stolen from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Undying

 

 

 

_ Daenerys POV _

 

 

Daenerys stood before the Iron Throne, in the great hall of the Red Keep. She knew what it was, had seen it so many times in the colored pictures Illyrio had shown her while growing up. But something was off about the place. Her Dothraki boots sank in the white snow, making it arduous to reach the throne made of thousand Swords of the vanquished. She noticed from the first moment she entered the House of the Undying that she is in the presence of sorcery. 

But how could this be possible. And why the Throne Room was covered in snow. She knew it was still summer in Westeros.

Then her vision blurred, the room and snow floating around her with the ferocity of a sand storm. Danny clasped her three children to her breast with a mother’s fear.  

 She heard voices speaking inside Danny’s head, saying _"we know… the shape of shadows… morrows not yet made… drink from the cup of ice… drink from the cup of fire… Mother of Dragons… Child of Three… three heads has the dragon… three fires must you light: one for life and one for death and one to love… three mounts must you ride: one to bed and one to dread and one to love… three treasons will you know: once for blood and once for gold and once for love… daughter of death, slayer of lies, bride of fire…"_ She now saw visions in her head, floating faster and faster.

She ran in to the arms of old, dead, loyal Ser Darry and he beckon her into the house with the red door. An old man with long silver hair stood on a  barbed throne in a great hall with dragon skulls, and he yelled "Let him be the king of ashes" in a maniacal voice.

A man who looked like her brother Viserys, but taller and with darker eyes, who murmured to a beautiful woman nursing a newborn baby, " Aegon… What better name for a King… He is the Prince that was Promised, and his is the song of ice and fire"; and when the man’s eyes meet Dany’s, he said either to her or the woman with the baby, "There must be one more… The dragon has three heads", and he picked up a silver harp and started  playing it with divine skill.

 

Viserys’ death. The corpse wearing a crown of molten gold. A tall lord with copper skin and silver hair bearing the banner of a fiery stallion. Was that Rhaego, her unborn son?  Danny’s heart swelled with pride, seeing her dead son very much alive, strong and grown. The vision blurred again.

“No, Rhaego, please don’t leave me again.”   

A dying man with rubies flying from his armor whispered the name of a woman, _Araliya_  before his last breath mixed with the air. She knew who he was, Rhaegar, her eldest brother. The last Dragon. 

Visions started flying faster. She saw so many things. Some of them were not familiar like the blue eyed king with a red sword in his hand who cast no shadow, the great stone beast flying from a smoking tower, breathing shadow fire, a corpse at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, smiling sadly, shadows dancing in a green tent, a white lion running through grass taller than a man. But then she saw the silver horse given to her by Drogo at her wedding.  The horse she had to watch dying of thirst while the crossed the desolate area of Red Waste.

A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_ Daenerys's POV _

__

“Khaleesi…..Khaleesi..”

She woke again to scent of hot earth, drifted into it as a girl might drift into a hot bath on a cold day. Will she see a  velvet canopy of deep purple over her head if she open her eyes. She tried to clear her mind. One thought came through.

She was alive.

Morning, she decided. The light was thin and very dull. Not long past dawn. But sun was shining through the tree leafs, blinding her eyes against its rays. Danny tried to cover her eyes with her hands. But someone shoved it off. “Easy Khaleesi, drink this.”

 "Carefully." Ser Jorah slid a hand behind her head to lift it gently as he brought a cup to her lips. "Drink now."

She was still half blind. However it didn’t stop her from seeing a dark shadow looming over her.

 

“What is wrong with her? What happened here?” Someone asked in oddly familiar voice that had all the authority a man could summon.

“Nothing to fear Your Grace, she just lost consciousness, Being inside of a place full of dark sorcery for two days, does that to you.” Ser Jorah said in a respective voice she‘d never heard of him using before. Well except when he was talking about her brother, Rhaegar.

He gave her no choice but to swallow before she managed to bring her hand to his and nudge the cup aside. "What…" Her voice felt rusty, as if it would scrape her throat. "What is this place? Where am I."

“You are safe Khaleesi, and we are going home. Sooner than we both thought before.”  Finally, she forced her eyes open see much handsome, masculine, taller and older Viserys staring at her with dark intellectual purple eyes.

It was the man in her visions, the man who had talked to the woman and her baby.

The dying man she saw with rubies flying from his armor was looking at her with a smile that mirrored hers. No it's not him. A lesser woman would be fooled but the shape of his eyes( her mother's eyes ),  the curve of his eyebrows were so different from   those  of the man who died wearing his armour. 

“You’ve grown, sister. I’ve waited so long to finally see you Daenerys Stormborn”

“Rhaegar?” If she wasn’t so startled, she might have laughed at her own voice.   

 He nodded and helped her get back on to her feet. "Carefully, child. Do not rush it."

She would have argued, but to her frustration she was as weak as he said. And he was not. His hands were strong, hard from fighting so many battles. What the seven hells was she thinking? This man claims to be Rhaegar Targaryen. Her eldest brother who was slain in the Battle of the Trident.

She stepped back, eyeing him coldly. “No, my brother died sixteen years ago in Westeros, You must be a pretender. Ser Jorah, seize this man!”

 _Rhaegar_ gave her an odd look. She turned around to see her surroundings. She, Ser Jorah and a handful of her remaining bloodriders where surrounded by thousands and thousands of copper skinned men, equipped with short spears, swords, round shields, and distinctive spiked caps.. Seasoned warriors who had death written upon their faces.

Her Dragon, Rhaegal sat upon _Rhaegar’s_ Shoulder sniffing his neck like a love struck puppy.

“These men are called Unsullied. I have an army of ten thousand unsullied soldiers. They do not fear the sea. Fifty ships await our arrival in Qarth bay. We are going back home Danny. And we’ll get back what was stolen from us.”

 

   

 

                                                                                                               *                          *                           *

 


	2. Back from the dead

 

_ Jon's POV _

 

 

 

“We are running out of firewood again. And the cellars are almost empty of food. How long do we have to accommodate your band of Wildlings Jon?” Bran complained while he was reading raven scrolls. His heart sank, every time he walked in to this room. His father’s solar which now served as Bran’s, the oldest surviving male Stark and young Lord of Winterfell.

He linked his fingers together because they were trembling with the chill. He wondered how this could be so cold for him after surviving so long beyond the wall with no means to light a fire. Then of course it was colder than any of the ice storms that have flown through Winterfell during his lifetime. Jon was glad he could talk Bran into letting the wildlings camp close to the castle till the blizzard passed. The Long Night was getting closer, the days getting shorter and less and less light.

He watched the frozen woods through the window, which flanked the castle from west. The food and hunting animals will be few, the leaves would fall, he thought, with the first frost of winter. Many things would fall.

“The others are almost spilling over the Wall, Bran. If we force them back beyond the Wall, we’ll be sending them straight to their deaths.”           

“They are Wildlings Jon; I know you lived with them for a while. But they are too wild, too uncontrollable. I spent half of my morning in the Great Hall, listening to villagers’ pleas and complaints about Wildlings.”

He knew Bran was telling the truth. The Wildlings call themselves free folk for nothing. "I distinctly remember asking you, to at least attempt, to explain them our rules and customs."

"You would have greater fortune ordering Summer not to eat anything meat"

 _“They are not your lands! We’ve been here the whole the whole time! You lot came along and just put up a big Wall and said it was yours!”  
_ Ygritte’s words had a new meaning to him after living as a Wildling for a while.

“They think of me as their leader Bran, I can’t abandon them to be killed by the Others, or die of starvation.”

“You think we’ll lose. We’ll die, every one of us.” Bran asked his hand on the half removed seal of a letter _, with the royal Targaryen s_ _eal_.

Truth, he thought, would shield him better than platitudes. “I think the chances of beating this dead filth diminish with each passing day.”

He saw the worry on his brother’s face. “What is it?”

 

"News from King's Landing”

"King Aegon wants you to swear fealty?" Jon heard himself ask.

“Yes, and will swear an oath of fealty. He may not be who he says he is, but we can’t raise our banners and go to war with winter’s coming so fast.”

Bran looked out again, across the snow covered land. “You know, my mother always called me her Summer child. Because Rickon and I are the only ones of her children, who has never lived through a harsh winter. Isn’t it ironic, that I am going to be the only Stark in Winterfell during the Long Night?”

Summer moved closer and rested his furry head over Jon’s lap. Jon petted the full grown direwolf with his scared hand.  His last and only scar from fire Melisandre was telling the truth.

 The Red Woman had sacrificed his wolf to her god to bring him back.

_“I’m so sorry, My Lord, your soul was stuck inside the beast’s body. It was the only way I could bring you back.”_

_However Ghost did not die in the end. After loosening  so much blood , he still managed to live.  Though this new Ghost is a lot more sulkier and quieter  than  the old one._

She believed him a part of a very old prophecy. The prince who was promised, Azor Ahai. His atempts to convince her, he was no prince hence not the propocied one were fruitless.

 Bran took another letter from the table, then glanced into its contents and winced. His face paled as if he'd seen the great other himself. "Seven Hells.”

“Why?”

“I can’t believe this. It’s from…..from Robb. He’s alive and has sided with Rhaegar Targaryen and Daenerys Targaryen. They are waiting for our Bannermen to come join them in Eastwatch.” It took him several minutes to close his mouth. When his brain started functioning again he dragged the scroll from Bran’s hand and read it himself.

“I guess we didn’t see this one coming.”

“Apparently we didn’t look in the right place.” Bran thought about the details of what happened in the Red Wedding.

The damned Freys had slaughtered the small Stark host and killed Robb and Lady Stark as well. They’d cut off Robb’s head and replaced it with the head of Grey Wind, and had thrown Catelyn Stark into the river after cutting her throat. Or so they thought.

 And if this letter was indeed from Robb, Rhaegar Targaryen was alive as well. “Who do you think will pop  _up from the dead next?”_

_Jon asked in a sarcastic voice. It seemed Bran has not yet recovered from the shock. The boy just stared at the Scroll with eyes, bigger than dinner plates._

* * *

 

_*                                    *                                      *_


	3. A clash of three kings

 

 

_ Rhaegar's POV _

 

 

 

Odds were he’d die here, in the lands his ancestors ruled over as kings, but even that wouldn’t make it his. And still, he’d play the long shot that he, his troops, and the family he had left with him would not only survive, but beat down the traitors that plagued the Seven Kingdoms. That he would end it this time.

 

Rhaegar had no single soul waiting for his arrival in Westeros. Both his parents were gone. As were his wife and little Rhaenys and Aegon.

 

And in tower of joy he lost three more. His one and only love Lyanna had died giving birth on a bed of blood and roses. He had no information as to what happened to her child, his Visenya. The third head of the dragon he had tried so hard to create. Maybe they’d torn her from Lyanna’s corpse and butchered the newborn; just the same way they killed his other children.

He’d lost so much in a short period of time.

You carried the past with you, he thought, dragging it behind you on a thick, unbreakable chain no matter how far you looked ahead. You could ignore it for good long stretches of time, but you couldn’t escape it. He could drag that chain ten thousand miles, but the Iron Throne, the people who believed him to be the one to sit on it, and his goddamn destiny just kept pulling him back.

He pushed away from the table full of maps, went down to get himself more wine. Sitting at the counter of the tent, he played with the flame of a candle which lightened the tent. It calmed him, the feel of the heat, the quiet sound it made, the colors and shapes. When he heard someone talking with the guards outside the entrance of the tent, he glanced at his open battle plans.

But he knew only one would dare coming to his room at this time of the day.

“Come inside dear sister, you shouldn’t be outside in this weather.”

 She only looked at him for a moment. Her long silver hair was braided back, Dothraki style as she often wore it. Her eyes were clear in her pretty face, her body slim in blue chiffon and white fur.

“Thank you for the Westerosi garbs, though I must say I feel ridicules in them after wearing Dothraki leathers for a while.”

“You’re welcome. Worry not you’ll get use to them.”

“Wine?”

She stood in firelight and candlelight, watching him as he poured more wine into two cups. “You lived eleven years in exile as a Mercenary and five as a leader of the Golden Company. Yet you try to order people around like we are your Kingsguard.” His sister said with fire in her eyes. Her lilac pools seemed to glow from inside. He often had to remind himself that she was a ruler, a Khaleesi herself. It scared him to think the baby sister he had wanted so much see has grown in to this strong, yet emotionless woman.

When he looked at her, he saw a different woman. This one had dark almost black hair and eyes the color of rich Valyrian steel.

“What have I done wrong this time?” Rhaegar lifted his goblet in toast.

You ordered my bloodriders to wear steel armor. Rhaegar, they are my people. And the Dothraki are proud people. They consider wearing metal guards as a cowardliness.” He knew he’d made a misstep there.  He merely suggested that they wear at least a metal breast plate.

“Your Ser Jorah told me how he fought a Bloodrider, one of your late husband’s best with a sword.  He said he only won because he was wearing armor and his opponent was not. It is time you understand this war Dany. Tell them it is not going to be like their Dothraki tribal wars. Before this war is over we are going to send thousands of men to their graves, Sister. Is it wrong that I try to diminish the death toll by using early precaution?”

The two silver haired siblings stared at each other for a moment. “I’m sorry brother. But I think you should stop goading my Bloodriders. The  _Dothraki_  do things in their own time, for their own reasons.” Dany said, breaking the pregnant silence.

 

“So I see. Okay, I’ll leave them alone. I just didn’t want their blood on my hands—“

He heard the flap of his tent open, as his hand went automatically to the hilt of his sword. He looked up and saw an Unsullied Guard looking at him.

"Your Grace," he began. "Lord Stark is here and wishes an audience with you."

"Yes, of course. Send him in." The guard gave him a nod and closed the flap. Within a moment, Robb Stark walked into the Tent, standing there in his Black armor. He always covered his face with a black hood for some reason. As he’d seen the young man’s face he knew it wasn’t due to some deformity. He had reasons to believe that it was what saved his identity from coming out since the Red Wedding. Most people feared him, or the man they knew as the Black Knight. His men did not know Robb Stark, The King in the North who was commenly believed to be slain at the Red Wedding.

“Just in time, Robb.”

 

 

  “There was a raven.” Rhaegar tossed a rolled scroll towards Young Lord Stark. “Doran Martell has agreed to an allegiance with us. But there’s a price.”

“What, Tywin Lannister’s head on a spike? I’d gladly do the beheading myself.” The young Wolf said in a sarcastic voice. He might have grinned at the good-natured comments of the boy, but he had more information to tell.

 

 

“There’s more?” He asked when the silver King didn’t smile back.

“When the fighting is done, you will marry his daughter Princess Arianne Martell.”

“What, but isn’t she the Heiress of Sunspear, and the future ruling Princess of Dorne?”  Robb was a cautious, pensive man who does not wear his emotions on his sleeve, but even without looking at his face Rhaegar knew the boy was utterly shocked.

“You are no longer the Lord of Winterfell, your choice. I am not sure it befits a former king to be the consort of a ruling princess. It was your choice not to take the Lordship of Winterfell from your brother Brandon. So you are no longer an Heir or a High Lord. Again your choice. This marriage will unite far north with the furthest south of seven Kingdoms. And I’m sure you agree the relationship between Sunspear and Winterfell has strained a lot in the past twenty years. It’s time we put a stop to it. The princess of Dorne is a very beautiful woman from what I hear.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too. But can I refuse.” Robb asked in an unsettled voice.

“Lord Stark,” Dany said with an arm over the young Lord’s shoulder. “My brother Viserys, the only family I’d known till Rhaegar came back, sold me off to a horselord who promised Viserys 10,000 men to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. I was a complete Stranger to their ways, didn't even know their language . I hated my husband at the beginning but over sometime we come to love each other as only a man and woman could. Surely this is a better end of a deal than that. There can be no victory without sacrifice.”

“The Martells requires your presence in Drone before marching off to battle. I think it’s because they still have suspicions whether you are really Robb Stark or an Imposer. Take one of my ships so you can be back before your brothers arrive. I think you have a lot to talk about. Be that as it may. We shall see each other again soon Lord Stark.”

Rob gave him a pouty nod

"Is there something  that you wanted to discuss with me"

" My sisters, have you perceived any information on them?"

Rob's devotion and dedicatin towards finding his lost sisters Continued to amaze him. Rhaegar knew by previous experience , this strong protectiveness is a fomidabIe Stark family trait. Brandon Stark rode to Red Keep and demanded the Crown Prince's head when to avenge his only sister's  honour, Rob Stark declared war with the Lannisters when they refused to release the ladies' Sansa and Arya Stark. And he still remembered how hard it was to keep Lyanna in the tower after she heared about the deaths of her father and brother.

Arya Stark is aboard a ship to White Harbor as we speak, you'll get to meet her within a moon's turn. As to your other sister, I have already annuIed her marriage to Tyrion  Lannister, she has no reason to hide in the Vale anymore , still it's safer there for her to be than here. It would be best if you'd just wait until the war is over to collect her from I there."

Rob noded, still unhappy with how the way things turned out.

"Ifthat's all for today can I leave now, My King?”

Rhaegar nodded. The boy stormed out of the room without further curtsies. “Now, that’s a man with the infamous northern temper.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He murmured, thinking of his Lyanna.

 

 

 


	4. Old swords and new enemies.

Bran's POV

 

 

They made camp a day’s travel from The Gift.  Two weeks ride from Winterfell had worn him down. Bran asked Hodor to take him in to the woods which edged the camp after taking a nice hot bath in his tent.

He loved practicing archery when nobody was around. It calmed his mind. Took him back to the time when he dreamed of shooting arrows while lying on bed, knowing that he will never be able to handle a bow and arrow. Surprisingly, the Imp’s saddle helped him perfect his skills and his upper body had grown very stronger than others to accommodate his paralyzed lower part.

He heard footsteps, and turning, saw Jon coming toward him, with Ghost tagging behind. He had barely spoken more than a word or two with his half- brother since they parted from the warmth of Winterfell. “You should be in your bed. You should get some sleep. It’s going to be a long war.” he said.

“I’d only stare at the tent roof. The view’s better here.” Bran said looking at the thumbnail moon rise over the tree tops.

 “And why aren’t you in yours?”

 

“I saw you. Ser Karstark and I went out to the stables for a bit. Our horses do not like the impending winter. It’s a good thing with turn south from Eastwatch.” Like Bran’s, his gaze scanned the sky above. “I saw you and Hodor going in to the woods alone.”

“I’m poor company, even for myself tonight. I only wish this war is done, then there would be no clutches of south to rape our lands.  So I came here to brood over it.”

 “It passes the time.”

“Do you think we are doing the right thing? Do you think this is what father would have done if he was alive?”

“When word reached him of his sister Lyanna's abduction, our uncle Brandon rode to King’s Landing and demanded prince Rhaegar's head. Father went to battle when both our uncle and grandfather were burned alive by the Mad King. They were ready to die for each other Bran. In deep winter the lone wolf dies while the pack survives, that’s what our father would say. We're all wolves, cannot survive alone and more than ever we need to defend each other. We have to meet our brother before taking a decision. We have to trust his judgment”

“The Starks are our family. They are our blood, Bran…They come first…For when your enemies seek to harm you, it's your family that will protect you, your blood protects you. Never forget that—“

“Ssh. Something... ”

Saying nothing, he ordered Hodor to lift him up and  reached into the quiver on his back for an arrow.

 

It was all so quick, Bran thought. Flashing moments. The silver snick of Jon’s sword leaving its scabbard, the shift of his body in front of his like a shield. The Wights jumped out of the dark, and Bran’s arrow was notched and ready.

 

He aimed for the first, then he saw it was a child, a girl little older than Rickon. His heart stumbled; his body jerked. And his arrow went wide off the mark. The child was screaming, howling, snarling. A cannibal on the hunt.

 

 

Another female flew behind the child, a blue and grey she-demon, streaking through the air, hands curled into claws, teeth gleaming.

Bran’s second arrow spiked through her heart and soared into the air. It didn’t slow it down. Of course metal had no effect on Wights unless it’s dragon blade.

 

“There are more coming. We can’t fight them all!” Jon shouted. “Hodor, take Lord Bran and run.”

Even as she reached for a third arrow, Jon shoved them aside, cleaning their path to leave.

 

His breath caught in denial as Jon advanced with the illusion of a wolf tearing his enemies down. Sick in heart and mind, Bran lowered his bow. The third Wight came out of the moonstruck dark like fury. Not a girl now, but a man fully grown. Jon pivoted, and met the charge.

Sword clashed and crashed, the deadly music of it ringing over open land of The Gift. Jon leaped, beheading the dead man with a vicious kick to the throat.

 

With no clear shot, Bran tossed down his bow and drew his Dagger. Before he could order Hodor to carry him away from the battle, the girl gained her hands and knees. She lifted her head, stared at him with those gleaming blue eyes. It growled.

 

 

 

“Hodor.”The giant backed up a step as the Wight crouched to spring. “Run.” “It’ll kill us both” Her lips peeled back as she circled them. “We should run.”

 

Jon was circling a man, a little bigger than Hodor, trying to work him back with thrusts of the sword.

He spun, kicking out, aiming low to hit him in the belly and drive him back.

With a chilly feeling he realized his brother wasn’t really fighting them. Their numbers were too many. The camp was too far away to hear any noises. Jon was just trying to buy him time to escape.

 

“Run, Bran!” Jon shouted. “Run!”

With mad, undulating howls, the white wolf and his brother pounced from above. Claws and fangs raked as they leaped over the bunch of snarling Wights, as they lunged and snapped. When his Summer bunched to spring for the throat of the first, Bran cursed. He knew his Summer killed the man who tried to kill him in his sleep. But seeing the Direwolves in action wasn’t a funny thing.

With the help of two massive wolfs, it ended quickly.

“We must burn the bodies.” Jon had already begun the task. Summer and Ghost helped him, dragging the mutilated body parts of the Wight towards the small fire his brother had manage to light.

It came so fast Bran had no time to voice a warning. The huge Wight jumped on top of Jon from his back. A part of his brain noticed the arrow hanging from its back. One of his kills. The other part was so stunned by how a man could survive an arrow which had obviously come out from the other side of his body.

Jon’s hand struggled to reach the fire and with some luck shoved a hot piece of wood that was slowly turning volcanic red in to the Wight’s heart. Then he got back his feet and tossed the body of his opponent in to the flames.

“You must go to the Maester and have your hand properly treated.”

 “No need.” Jon said checking the burned gloves of his right arm.”I’ve had worse.”

“Jon, it is your sword arm. And you are going to be in a battle field soon.”

Jon tore his glove off and slammed it to the ground before showing his un-burnt skin. “See, no need.”

“Bu….But how?”

  Bran had heard of the rumors considering his brother’s last few months at the wall. How he was stabbed four times by his own sworn brothers. And how the Red woman, Melisandre of Asshai brought him back to life with help of R’hllor. A wildling swore to him that he saw Jon rising from the flames of his pyre with his sword burning like a core of a bleeding star.

“I think only Melisandre and her Lord of Light can answer that question.”  

                                                                                                

 

 

* * *

Daenerys's POV

 

Daenerys stared at the beautiful long sword with her mouth agape with surprise and fascination. Beams of candle light glinting on the golden hilt of the sword **.** She knew the history behind this sword. Had heard hundred times Viserys boast about the magnificent two ancestral weapons of their house. She could hardly believe that she was actually looking at the sword wielded by Aegon the Conqueror.

 

“Blackfyre, how? “Can I see it?” Rhaegar smiled his wicked grin and offered Dany the sword.

  But this is the Sword I want you to wield,” He unwrapped the covers sword from another sword. “Good weight for you. You expect it to be crusted with jewels or whatever. It’s good that it’s not. It’s good and right that it’s a fighting sword, not just a symbol.”

“Dark Sister.” Her brother explained when she stared at him with a question mark on her face. “I wanted my Visenya to have it as it was wielded by our ancestor, her namesake. Prophecies are vile things. I understand it now. You deserve this sword sister. You are a warrior, Daenerys. You may not believe it. But that’s what you are.”

Dany reached out, curled her fingers around the silver hilt. And oh, she thought as she felt the heat of it, as she heard somewhere in her mind the murmur of its music. Of course, yes, of course. It’s mine, and always was since the Visenya the warrior queen left this world.

 

She felt it inside her, that light, a burst of heat and color and strength.”These two swords helped our ancestors concur the seven kingdoms. It will help us again to win it back.”

“It felt as though the hilt was made for my hand. As soon as I touched it, it felt... mine.”

“It is. It’s yours.”

“Where did you find it?”

“I assume you know our family history, right?” Dany nodded. “While I was working as the leader of the Golden Company, I came across some of Bittersteel’s possessions. The sword was hidden under a false name. But I recognized it from the first sight. As for the other sword, after the Sack of King’s Landing, I smuggled it out from a vault beneath the  Red Keep.”

With a sigh, she put her arms around him, laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank you Rhaegar, I will try my best to not disappoint you.” 

 


	5. Three heads has the dragon

__

__

__

__

_ Daenerys’ POV _

 

The rain had slowed when she woke. It was only a hiss and patter against the tent. It was as soothing as a lullaby. Dany lay still for a moment, reminding herself where she was and struggling to remember why. After living the life of a nomad, it wasn’t strange to wake up in unfamiliar places.

She quickly changed in to the familiar Dothraki garbs before her eyes met the heavy fur and Westerosi gown her handmaiden had chosen for her the night before. The cheerlessness of not being able to be in the simplicity of Dothraki leathers  quickly faded, when she walked out of her tent and met with the chill  In the air.

The rain slid into a soggy dawn that curled a smoky fog low over the ground. As the day crept in, no sun, no light could break through the gloom.  

Dany waded through the river of fog between the tents. She wanted to go her dragons, her only children.

She made her way to the place where her dragons were ‘hosted’. She hated seeing her beloved children in chains. But most of their bannermen actively feared the fire breathing creatures.

 

 _"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," said Mirri Maz Duur. "When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before."_  

No, she will never see the face of a child of her own again. Nor will she be able to bring her son back to life.

 

_"The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust"._

Would she want her son to take a place in this battle if he ever lived? No, she wanted her son to sit on the Iron Throne in her stead.  But not as a conqueror.

 She didn’t brood over her fate. That was a useless occupation. Perhaps there were times, in the dark, in private, when she mourned the deaths of her sun and stars and their child. But if it was her fate to live as a young widow, she’d do it. And if there were any justice in this world, she would take all who has wronged her in the past in to the night lands with her.

 

She wondered if he’d be at the welcome feast tonight. Her brother insisted that they celebrate the arrival of northern armies with a big feast as a part of raising the moral of their bannermen. Lord Stark introduced him as his legitimized half brother. So she thought it’s only logical to think that he’d be there.

 

Just thinking of him had brought a clammy sweat to her skin and had accelerated her heartbeat. She made a conscious effort to level it. She was no longer a young maiden waiting to be deflowered by her Sun and Stars. Her time with Drogo had thought her all there is to know about being a woman, a lover and a bed mate. But she had to admit, what she was feeling for this hardened northern warrior was a far cry from what she felt for her Khal.

 

There were people about—servants, squires, soldiers, Knights—those who fought and worked and bled alongside with her on the battlefield. Most avoided her, averting their eyes, quickening their pace. Some made the sign of the seven behind their backs. It didn’t trouble her. She knew they were both feared and awed by her presence in their midst.

 

They knew what she was—the Mother of Dragons, Burner of Cities, and had seen what Targaryens like her were capable of since Dany had used Drogon in the war with Greyjoys. They actively feared this woman who could make her dragons breath fire with command of a single Valyrian word.

She heard him before she saw him, and sensed him before that.

Dany very nearly turned around to go back the way she’d come. It was just another annoyance to come across the man when she’d been thinking of him. The problem was, she thought of him entirely too often since they arrived two weeks ago. Avoiding him wasn’t an option as they were inexorably bound together in this war. Slipping away now unseen was easily done. And cowardly. Pride, as always, refused to let her take the easy way.

 

They’d housed her dragons at the far end of the camp, thirty yards away from any of the other establishments. She understood and tolerated the fact that the grooms and farriers were wary of tending to the three dragons.

Now it seemed Jon Stark of all people had taken it upon himself to spoil the animals. He had strips of raw meat, Dany saw, and was balancing one on hand, cajoling Viserion to nip it off. It relieved her to know he was keeping her dragons company, but she wondered if she herself had the energy to deal with him after a sleepless night.

“You know you want it,” He murmured. “It’s so tasty. All you have to do is take it.”

He might think the same about the woman, Dany mused. The northerners treated their woman like trophies.  Valuable, but mindless things. Or so her brother Viserys used to say.

 

 

 

Straightening her spine, she strode in to the large settlement. As she was watching him spoil her dragon while she walked she didn’t see the chains attached to the ground with Valyrian steel cuffs.

She would have fallen if he hadn't moved quickly, so quickly she had no sense of him moving at all. But his hands closed firmly over her arms and pulled her to safe ground.

“Uh. It’s you. I’m sorry Your Grace. I was-you startled me. I didn't hear you. You were just there. You shouldn’t walk close to a soldier like that. Battle reflexes can be quite harmful, I didn’t – He winced like he just caught himself babbling.

"Steady," he said, and it was more an order than a suggestion.

He might have been the prince of any woman's imaginings. Or the dark angel of her most secret dreams.

His hair was black as a moonless night. The curls of it flew around a face which was alabaster pale (He was the first black haired man she saw with such pale skin) A face of strong, sharp bones, of firm, unsmiling mouth, of haunting male beauty.

He was tall. He had the eyes of silver grey, unblinking and intense-under arched brows as black as his hair. They

stared directly into hers, making the blood rush hot through her veins.

 

There was his posture, and his movements. Jon always seemed at his ease, and walked with a near animal fluidity. She liked watching him move, Dany admitted. He always put her in mind of something exotic—beautiful in its way, and just as lethal.

 She felt the strength of his hands as he'd yet to release her, thought she saw both impatience and curiosity flicker over that gorgeous face.

"I'm not-I wasn't." God, she'd tremble in a moment if he didn't let her go. It had been a long, long time since she'd been this close to a man since her Sun and Stars. And much too long since she'd felt any kind of response to one. She'd never experienced a reaction this strong, this violent or this disorienting.

But she might have been wrong because he continued to stare, and say nothing.

"You startled me." It was an effort, but she glanced over her shoulder and down at the chains. They would have done a number on her face if she had fallen.

"Of course, Your Grace. It is that." He pushed away from her about two steps. "Better?"

“What are you doing here? My dragons do not fare well with strangers.” Translation, I do not want you near my children ever again. She was surprised, by the fear and jealousy she felt when she saw him playing with her Dragons like they were new born kittens. He clearly understood her message.

"Nearly a half-mile between us should be enough. I like my solitude." He said it firmly, and though it was ridiculous, it seemed to Jon he wasn't speaking to her, but to someone, something in the still dark woods beyond. Then his gaze shifted back to her dragons. "I won't infringe on yours."

"I didn't mean to be unfriendly." She tried a smile, wishing she hadn't spoken so abruptly and irritated him. "I've always lived in fear of losing my dragons. I’m not yet used to sharing them with others."

"It doesn't suit you," he said half to himself.

"What?"

“Solitude.”

Have you eaten?”

He flushed a little deeper as soon as the words were out. “What I meant is there’d be supper

in the parlor if—”

“I know what you meant. No. I thought to see to the Dragons first, but they appear well groomed.” On the heels of the words, Viserion bumped his head against Jon’s shoulder. “And spoiled,”

Danny added.

 They only eat cooked meat. I’ve coaxed them into recognizing the Valyrian command, "Dracarys," to breath fire, so they can cook their own food. But as you cannot command the dragon, though I must say it’s strange to see them like this with a complete stranger—“

“Dracarys.” Jon said testing the word on his lips.

Viserion breathed a stream of fire, directly aimed at the strip of meat on Jon’s hand. Dany’s eyes closed on their own accord, like they didn’t want to see the burned remains of Jon’s beautiful hand.

But when she opened them again her eyes nearly fall from their sockets. Jon was studying his un-burnt hand. Nearly as surprised as she.

_“three heads has the dragon”_

“Well, it seems we’ve found the third head of the dragon.” She said studding Jon snow- Stark with a new interest.  

__


End file.
